Even

by Andrew Grant

  I looked at her face across the end of the barrel for another few moments, then lowered the gun. And hoped that this time, Varley would pick up the phone quickly.

  There’s only so much temptation a man can take.

  TWENTY

  In my world you are surrounded by deceit.

  You spend most of your working life lying to people. About who you are. Where you’re from. Why you’re with them. What you do. Who you work for. What you believe in. It makes for some interesting conversations. Because you know that for every lie you tell, you’re told a dozen in return. It changes the way you relate to people. You don’t just hear their words. You scan everything they say for contradictions. Check their facts for discrepancies. File minute details away in your head for future confirmation.

  You end up convinced that everyone is hiding something from you. Friend, as well as foe.

  Which experience shows is not too far from the truth.

  Tanya had promised to send a car to drop me at the airport the next morning. That was fine by me—better than having to put my hands on $60 cash for a cab, and the consulate drivers are trained not to annoy their passengers with mindless chatter. The only question was what kind of car it would be. Tradition dictates that you sit in the back, which makes their cramped little X-types a pretty unappealing prospect.

  I crossed my fingers, came out of the hotel, and saw that I needn’t have worried. A long-wheelbase XJ limousine with diplomatic plates was sitting at the side of the road, engine running, waiting for me. It was a little ostentatious with its dark green livery and black privacy glass, but at least it would be comfortable. And I got another surprise when I opened the door. A nice one. Tanya was inside.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Everything worked out in the end. You missed Varley’s reunion with Lesley, though. It was a treat. Very emotional.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about the restaurant. Having to break our date.”

  “I know. That was a shame. But if you had to work, you had to work. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It catches up with all of us, eventually.”

  “To be honest, I wasn’t really working. I just exaggerated a little, when I sent you the text.”

  “So what were you doing? It must have been good, to outgun me and a kung pau chicken.”

  “Talking to my brother. And a few other people.”

  “About what?”

  “My friend. Simon. The guy in the photo. Who they found dead, by the railway.”

  “The guy you thought was Simon.”

  “No. I know it was Simon. I’m sure of it now.”

  “How?”

  “Because of what Agent Sproule said. The fat guy, at the debrief. About Lesley planting fake IDs on those corpses.”

  “She was planting U.S. IDs so she could rip off their Social Security money. The railway guy had Ukrainian papers. How would that work?”

  “Not the scam part. The way she used fake IDs to change people’s identities. To throw the authorities off the scent.”

  “How do you know the Ukrainian papers were fake?”

  “I don’t. Maybe they weren’t. That doesn’t matter. The point is, that was really Simon’s body they found, but the FBI doesn’t believe it.”

  “Tanya . . .”

  “Just listen. I spoke to my brother. He’s back in Iraq. Simon went with him. And another Brit, called James Mansell. They were working together. Then Simon and James were moved to another team, guarding a hospital.”

  “Why?”

  “Emergency replacements. The hospital team was originally all Americans, but a couple of them got killed.”

  “The hospital was hit?”

  “No. It happened on a day off. They strayed out of bounds, got caught up by a mob—quite gruesome apparently. But that’s not the point. Simon and James took their places. They worked at the hospital for maybe two days, then the whole team was pulled out. Called back to the U.S.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Training, they were told at first. But when they got back to New York, where the firm’s based, they were all fired. The whole team.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t say. Their boss just gave them three months’ money and told them to vacate the building.”

  “Seems a bit odd.”

  “Doesn’t it just.”

  “So what did Simon and James do about it?”

  “Simon said they were going up to Canada. With the other squaddies. They were pissed off, but had plenty of money so they didn’t need to find more work yet.”

  “Canada?”

  “Yeah. A lot of vets end up there, apparently. At least for a while. Canadians seem much more sympathetic. They have support groups, retraining programs, legal help for deserters, that sort of thing.”

  “Maybe they’re still up there, getting counseling.”

  “No. I spoke to my brother and everyone else I could get hold of. Simon and James were in regular contact with quite a few people. But guess when that stopped?”

  “When?”

  “The day before the FBI found the alleged Ukrainian. Not a single word from either of them since then.”

  “That’s suspicious, Tanya, but not conclusive.”

  “And something else. Do you know which U.N. country was controlling the sector Simon was working in?”

  “Let me guess. Ukraine?”

  “Got it.”

  “That’s an interesting coincidence, but it still doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Right. So, will you help me?”

  “To do what?”

  “Prove it’s Simon. Get justice for my friend.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Go up there. Get hard evidence that it’s him.”

  I paused for a moment. A trip upstate with Tanya could have possibilities. There was plenty of unfinished business between us, after all. Part of me wanted to say yes. But realistically I knew her idea would never fly. Her friend was history, and anyway, I was needed elsewhere. There would be real work waiting for me. More than enough of it. There always was.

  “I can’t, Tanya. I’m on my way home. London is expecting me.”

  “I’ll take care of that. Your head wound will buy a few more days.”

  “No, Tanya. I’ve got to get back. I can’t go traipsing around the country, chasing a ghost.”

  “Why not? You went nuts over someone you thought was a tramp. I helped you, then. So why won’t you help my friend, now?”

  “How can I help him? He’s dead. We can’t bring him back to life.”

  “No. But if we can identify him, I can bring him home. Like Dog, remember? When he was killed in Morocco?”

  “Dog was killed in the line of duty. The navy brought him home.”

  “How naïve are you, David? The navy didn’t bring him home. I did. They wanted to leave him in Africa, to save money. You were in the hospital. You didn’t hear about it. You couldn’t have done anything, anyway. So I came down and made them do it.”

  “I thought you came to visit me.”

  “That, too. But I knew Dog was your friend. I knew you wouldn’t want him left behind. I knew it was the right thing to do. So I stood up, David, whether you knew it or not. And now I’m asking you to stand up. I really need you to do that. Please don’t tell me you’re walking away.”

  I was tempted. Very. And this news about Dog tipped the scales even further. But still, I knew I’d be doing it for the wrong reason. If I stayed it would really be to steal another couple of days with her. She didn’t need me on a job like this. If she was serious about resolving it she should be getting the specialists involved. Not someone who’d only be along for the ride.

  “I’m not walking away, Tanya. But I’m the wrong person for this kind of work. I’m no use with crime scenes and forensics. The FBI are experts at that stuff. They’re the ones you should be talking to.”

  “They w
on’t listen. I’ve tried.”

  “So make them listen. Don’t just nag at them. Find something positive to engage them with.”

  “Such as?”

  “Use your brain. Think it through. You reckon the Ukraine IDs were planted?”

  “Right.”

  “So go back to Simon’s body. Get someone to check his dental work. Vaccination scars. Surgical scars, if he has any. All that stuff is done differently in the U.K. It’s a dead giveaway.”

  “I don’t know. It sounds a bit tenuous.”

  “OK then, how about this—how did Simon and this other guy get back to the States?”

  “They flew.”

  “On a commercial flight, or does this firm have their own planes?”

  “They do have planes, but Simon said they took a regular flight because of the short notice.”

  “Good. Which airport did they use?”

  “JFK, I think.”

  “Excellent. The INS fingerprints every foreign national who arrives there. The FBI can get access. Ask them to compare the prints from the railway victim with the passengers on Simon’s plane.”

  “Much better. That would put it beyond doubt. Excellent, David. Thanks.”

  “No problem. Just let me know how it works out. I’m in your corner. And let me know if the feds give you any grief. I’ll make some calls. See if Weston needs any more help closing his computer.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  I can still remember what my new commanding officer said to me when I first stepped into his office in Canberra, thirteen years ago.

  “I like to rattle cages, me.”

  I remember wondering what on earth he was talking about. Was it a threat? A confession? Had he confused me with someone else? But I soon found that this was his motivation technique. Or what passed for it. He thought he could get the best out of people by frightening them. Only no one was exactly quaking in their shoes. A few people felt sorry for him, certainly. But the net result was that he ran the most inefficient and unpopular unit anywhere in the Royal Navy. Even the torpedo refurbishment plant in the Falkland Islands had a better reputation. No one wanted to stay a moment longer than necessary, so I did what most of the others did. Kept my head down, bided my time, and transferred out at the first opportunity.

  The whole experience wasn’t a total waste, though. It did teach me two things.

  You can bully people all you like, but they’ll only go the extra mile if they want to.

  And you don’t have to be the boss to take advantage of that.

  _______

  Regular travelers all have strategies for dealing with long-haul flights. Some are pretty complex. Others are simpler, but just as effective. My personal routine, for example, has been honed to perfection by years of experience. I eat in the airport. And I sleep on the plane.

  The breakfast they serve in the old Concorde room at JFK is pretty good. Not quite the whole nine yards, but big enough to last until we land in London. I like to take it slow, savoring every mouthful, and then move over to the armchairs for the last part of the ritual. A second refill of coffee, and a good hour catching up with the U.K. papers.

  I was coming to the end of the final broadsheet with ten minutes to spare when a stocky man in a gray suit eased his way through the gaggle of passengers loitering near the reception desk. He paused, scanned the room, then came across toward me. He stepped in close so no one else could see and took out a Homeland Security ID for me to inspect.

  “Someone would like to speak with you,” he said.

  “Really?” I said. “Who?”

  “A woman from your consulate. She says it’s urgent.”

  “Does she have a name?”

  “Wilson. Ms. T. That’s all her ID said.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I know her. Tell her to come in.”

  “No can do. She’s not traveling today. Not permitted this side of security. You’ll have to come with me.”

  I checked my watch.

  “Well, OK,” I said. “But she better make it quick.”

  Tanya was waiting for me by the self-service machines in the check-in hall. Two other people were with her. The first was Agent Weston. And as I moved closer I realized the second, allowing for his swollen, discolored face, had to be Agent Lavine.

  “No one told me Herman Munster would be here,” I said. “Who let him out?”

  “Now David, I want you to take a deep breath,” Tanya said. “Count to ten before you say anything.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you probably won’t believe me. This isn’t what I meant to happen. It was London’s idea.”

  “What was?”

  “You’re not going back today. You have to stay a little longer.”

  “How much longer? What for?”

  “Turns out we’ve got a bigger problem than we thought. I talked to London. Brought them up to speed. And you were their solution.”

  “Solution for what? Is this about your friend?”

  “Partly. There’s more to it, now. But look, we can’t talk here. Come back to the car. I’ll fill you in properly.”

  “Let me do that,” Lavine said. “I’ll fill him in permanently.”

  I’d expected Tanya to still have the Jaguar, but they’d obviously switched to Weston’s car at some point during the morning. It was the one we’d used yesterday to raid Lesley’s house. Lavine was in the passenger seat this time, so I climbed into the back with Tanya.

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  “It started with your idea, funnily enough,” Tanya said. “We got the INS records for the plane Simon and the rest of his team were on. We did the comparison. And we got a match straightaway.”

  “Simon.”

  “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you lost your friend, Tanya, I really am. But what’s that got to do with me? These two geniuses notwithstanding, the FBI are world experts on serial killers. They’ll get the guy who did it.”

  “We don’t think it was a serial killer,” Weston said. “Not in the accepted sense.”

  “There’s an unaccepted sense?” I said.

  “Stop it,” Tanya said. “We didn’t just test Simon’s prints. We also checked on the other four railway victims. And got four hits. From a military database. I ran the names past my brother. He confirmed it. They were the four U.S. guys from Simon’s team in Iraq.”

  “Someone took out that whole team,” Weston said.

  “Except for James Mansell,” Tanya said. “The other Brit. He’s still out there somewhere.”

  “Unless his body hasn’t turned up yet,” I said. “Maybe it got eaten by a bear.”

  “Alive or dead, we need to find him,” Tanya said.

  “Someone needs to find him,” I said. “It doesn’t have to be me.”

  “London wants you on the team,” Tanya said. “The FBI has agreed.”

  “Reluctantly,” Lavine said.

  “I’m not a team player,” I said.

  “No shit,” Lavine said.

  “Stop squabbling, both of you,” Tanya said. “One marine is dead. Another marine is missing. The navy wants something done about that. And they want you to do it, David. So what’s your problem?”

  “They’re not marines anymore, Tanya,” I said. “They’re ex-marines. No offense to your brother, but these are guys who put their wallets before their regiments. You go outside to make money, this is the sort of thing that happens. End of story.”

  “Never thought I’d agree with him, but David has a point,” Lavine said.

  “Sorry, Tanya,” I said, opening the door. “This is no good. I’m going back to London. I need to sort this out with the brass, face-to-face.”

  “Wait,” Tanya said, sliding out of the car behind me. “Please. Don’t go.”

  “Why not? Simon’s been identified. That’s what you said you wanted.”

  “It was. But now we know about James Mansell.”

  “What about him? If he�
�s alive, he can take care of himself. If not, the FBI will find his remains and you can bring him home. Either way, you don’t need me.”

  “Think about it, David. All his companions were killed. If he’s alive, he must be in danger.”

  “That’s his problem.”

  “Mine, too. Because I know about it. That means I can’t just ignore it. I’m obligated. I’ve got to do something. And I need your help.”

  “Why you? What makes it your responsibility?”

  Tanya closed the car door, took my arm and led me to the other side of a concrete pillar, fifteen feet away.

  “Will you just trust me on this?” she said.

  “Why?” I said. “It makes no sense.”

  “I’m only asking you to hang around for a few more days. A week at the most. Until we know Mansell’s safe.”

  “What if he doesn’t want us butting in? Maybe he wanted to disappear.”

  “If he’s alive I just need to find him and warn him. After that, it’s up to him.”

  “Why? Who is he? An ex-boyfriend?”

  “No. Nothing like that. I’ve never met him in my life.”

  “Then why do you care so much?”

  “Because he’s in danger.”

  “Everyone’s in danger, Tanya. Give me the real reason.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Explain it in a way I can understand,” I said. “Or I’m on the next plane home.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “I’m in an impossible situation.”

  “Is this London nonsense? Is it classified?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “If I don’t say, you won’t help. If I do say, you’ll hate me and you won’t help. What can I do?”

  “I’m not going to hate you, Tanya,” I said, taking her hand. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

  Tanya pulled her hand away, closed her eyes for a moment, and started to sway slightly, like someone in a trance.